


My Husband

by AlexC



Category: Religious RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Innocence, based on the Christian notion that we are all God's wife, child bride, naive protagonist, religious work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexC/pseuds/AlexC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every marriage has its ups and its downs, but how does one deal with a marriage when all they've ever known is what their family told them about their suitor? And once they get old enough to make their own decisions, can they still find love else where? Can they still come to love their first husband?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Husband

I met my husband when I was young. He was always around me since I was born, but I never really talked to Him until the day we got married; I was six. He was, and still is, very sweet and very kind.

His nature is to take care of everyone, and to help those in need, even if the way they receive help is by being left alone so they can learn to stand by themselves. In that sense, he is sweet. But He is also kind unlike anyone else. He never screams. He never hits. He doesn’t attack. And He most certainly does not condemn you while you can still change.

Long before we met, I know He used to take actions that may be  _deemed_  cruel or unjust, but that is not so. Every action was backed with love. Sometimes it was tough love, but it was still love. Now, He lets people come to him. The broken, the weak, the lost, the “useless.” He accepts them all—as long as they trust in Him, and only Him.

My husband is kind, but sometimes I wish He weren’t.

Currently, we are at a place that I don’t very much like. Yet, this can all change as long as I do. However, I can’t. Simply, this is because all I’ve ever known is him. I grew my whole life believing everything He said, and knowing nothing else.

Homosexuality was bad.

Tattoos were of the devil.

The toy fortune-tellers I’d make at school with my friends were despicable.

And I was never going to be good enough on my own.

Now, these were all things my family told me. They always spoke on His behalf because I was “too young.” According to them, He hated certain things, and they had to teach me so that I could learn the proper ways, and so that I could be a good faithful wife.

But, the thing is, I grew up.

Yes, I accepted what they said faithfully for years. I followed all their commandments, and believed every little thing that came my way.

When my best friend wanted to play with me in my tent that I got for Christmas, and my grandmother accused her of trying to do “dirty” things to me in there, I believed her. She was still my best friend, but I felt too uncomfortable, too ashamed to be anywhere near her, or by ourselves.

When I played with my toys and made my dolls kiss, that was wrong because “they weren’t married,” and would “do things they were not supposed to do before marriage.”

When I asked questions (to understand), I “talked back” and broke the commandment of respecting my mother and father.

When I watched my Selena movie every day, I was “worshipping” her, and had to stop because my husband would be jealous.

I could never say “Oh my God,” despite the fact that so many of my older relatives did just that multiple times every day.

And when I would want to work on homework on Sundays, I was told that I was not allowed to because I had to keep that day holy. Besides, I “should have finished it before.”

Putting my uncle’s hat without his permission was “stealing,” and wanting a water gun like his was “wrong” because it was coveting.

I was fed so many facts in my childhood, and I attempted to learn them all.

Because it was important to make my husband happy.

Because it was important to show what my family had let me know.

But when I got older, and was able to learn things apart from them, many things made me conflicted.

In my youth, I was never really attracted to others. And when I finally got a crush on a boy, it was fine because we would never end up together anyways. But I couldn’t have the same feelings for a girl despite the fact that it would mean the same thing.

And when I saw people of the same gender kissing, it did not disgust me. In fact, I thought it was adorable. But moments later, my conscious would come rearing its ugly head and yell at me for not remembering my family’s words.

When I learned about the struggles that people endured, both in their homes, in their work environments, and at school, it taught me more than I had ever learned at home.

When I found out that a friend of mine had a child, despite being younger than me (too young to be a mother, that’s for sure), I did not feel disgust or contempt for her, but an odd combination of pity and joy. Pity because she was so young—too young to even take care of herself. But joy because she was able to be a mother. She was able to have a life that came from her, and that gave her meaning. How I wished I could have a child as well to help give me meaning…

There were many times when my husband was near me. When I would talk to my husband about these very things.

I would tell Him about my feelings towards significant women in my life.

I would tell Him about my desire to have a child.

I would confess to Him about how I wished I could take things, expensive things from rich people—and never get caught.

I told Him about so many things that my family had taught me were wrong, but He never said a word…

He would look at me with sad eyes, walk toward me, and after giving my shoulder a tight squeeze, He would leave.

I think I disappointed him. In fact, I know I did.

I, like a typical woman, would chat the day away to him, but He never responded. And I think I might have said some things He wasn’t too fond of.


	2. Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage rebellion, or individual enlightenment?

I remember the day I first saw him. I don’t remember  _where_  we were, but I remember  _him_.

He was tall and mysterious; handsome and rugged.

He stared at me with a curious glint in his eye, and I stared in much the same manner back.

What caught my eye was his hair. It was a brilliant dark shade, but in the sun, in shined with just a hint of blue. And when I noticed the blue, I couldn’t ignore the black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders so well.

He was handsome, and there was no denying it.

It wasn’t until after our first encounter that I felt guilty at being so attracted to him.

After all, this was my husband’s worst enemy: this was His son that He cast out of His home.

Oh, such a horror engulfed me, but yet such a delicious tremor of doing something I probably shouldn’t. Of being guilty of something so… human.

_Lust_.

I had never experienced it at such a degree.

It took over and soon, he wouldn’t leave my mind.

And when we had our first sit down, when we talked for the first time, he was beyond what I imagined.

Here I was expecting some evil person who was trying to get me to do evil things.

I expected him to try to convince me to commit murder or to do drugs; hell, I even half hoped he would try to get me to whore around with him.

But quite the contrary.

No, this man was very different indeed than what I was led to believe about him.

He was intelligent, calculating, and very logical.

We talked about varying things ranging from politics to gender to human rights and so much more.

He fascinated me for his breadth of knowledge. But what really stood out was his emotions.

Obviously, there was a passion brimming deeply in everything he did.

He tried to convey this passion as an intense hate, but after talking to him, hearing what he had to say, and seeing how he expressed himself—through his diction and examples—I realized this passion was in actuality love.

He said he hated his father for treating him like a child, and not wanting to accept him as his equal.

Behind his words, I could see he really just wanted his father’s respect. Or, what it was in his eyes, His love.

But since he couldn't have that, he was going to love himself.

He advocated for loving yourself more than others, and for treating yourself kindly.

He didn't believe in turning the other cheek to a person who was treating you unfairly, because that would just give them more of a reason to take advantage of you.

He said it was stupid to try to be the best person you could be when it came to someone else's standards because, "He's using the most perfect example ever. How can any of you  _humans_  compare to that?"

He made many valid points, and expressed in words what I only ever thought in the recess of my mind when I was frustrated and feeling alone.

His final point in our conversation was to be the best person I could be for myself, because only I mattered in my own life. If I wasn't happy, I had to fight for that happiness and joy on my own terms and conditions.

"Because, honestly, when has trying to be holy ever been much fun?"


End file.
